Paw Patrol
by Brookebynature
Summary: Intelligence gets a dog and naturally, Jay and Erin get custody. Except - you know - they're not together. Follows 4x18's deleted scene. Linstead TWO-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N - It's Bank Holiday weekend here in England so I had an extra few hours on my hands. Was out walking my own dog and this idea came to me all of a sudden. It's not often you get a fic written through the eyes of a German Shepherd so...yeah.**

 **Hope you enjoy x**

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Paw Patrol

"Okay boy, here you go," my handler says, patting my head just before he turns away and leaves me here watching the group of officers I'm going to be working with. They're a raggle-taggle bunch, this lot. Kind of a funny mix to be lumped together and labelled _Intelligence_ , but here they are and here I am too. I turn my head and appraise the first person I see: a well-built African-American who looks like he could catch a forward pass, score a touchdown and shoot a perp all at once - then probably wolf down a taco and wipe his hands on his jeans.

The next one - sitting at the desk across from him - looks like he hasn't slept in a few weeks judging by his bloodshot eyes and five o'clock shadow. He's wearing a kind of snazzy plaid shirt and jeans with boots, and he's drinking coffee from a mug so fast I'm already a little concerned for his heartrate.

I'm halfway to getting the measure of the guy who seems to be in charge here - the one with his own office - when a soft voice makes its way to my ears from somewhere downstairs.

"Thanks," I hear the voice say, right before there's a buzzing which makes me involuntarily scrunch my nose as my ears twitch. Call it a Pavlovian response. You know...without the insanity.

Footsteps grow louder, indicating the woman heading towards us (and I know it's a woman from the measured cadences of her voice) and the guy with the bloodshot eyes sits up a little straighter. I wonder whether she's the reason he clearly hasn't slept.

"You're here!" she coos, bending down as she walks and I start to wonder what on earth she's doing and who she's speaking to. When she stops in front of me, scratching that delicious spot just behind my ears, I realise I'm the one she's talking to. "And you're so handsome!"

I sit up a little straighter, pointing my nose slightly higher in the air. She smells like a bakery and I already love her.

"What's your name, huh?" she asks, fingering the bone-shaped tag that's attached to my collar. It's no use looking there: all it houses is one of those fancy chips in case I get lost or somebody tries to take me, and an inscription of CPD. My name is Bounce, although I've never really liked it. Maybe a Golden Retriever or a Labrador would be able to pull it off, but as a German Shepherd myself, somehow it doesn't quite fit. I'd like something a little smarter.

"What's his name?" she asks the rest of this bunch, still crouched beside me so I can smell her hair.

"They didn't tell us," The guy sitting at the desk over in the corner states, spinning around on his chair.

"Then we'll just have to name you ourselves," she tells me, her fingers leaving the spot behind my ears so she can pat my head. I lick my lips to let her know this is a good idea, but things immediately take a nosedive when names like Adam start getting thrown about.

"We're not naming him after you Ruzek. He needs something smart," Erin (I've learned her name to be) says.

"Sammy," the guy in the plaid shirt suggests. "Or Billy? Ryne?"

The last one is strange, I think.

"He can't be named after your favourite baseball players Jay," Erin tells him, simultaneously letting me know his name, and the fact that she's in charge here. Unofficially, I think, but still…

"Why not?"

"He deserves a name all of his own."

"He's a dog, Lindsay," the guy with the potential to be a football player tells her. "We just need something we can shout easily."

I don't disagree, but I'd like to imagine these people would put more thought into what they're going to call me than just 'something easy'.

"Buster," someone suggests, and I lay my head on my paws because this is going nowhere. I'm not some naughty pup getting up to mischief, but a highly-respectable member of this special team, thank you very much.

I start to rest my eyes because Erin's still petting me with extremely nimble fingers, when suddenly, she suggests something I like. More than like, actually.

"How about Blue? It matches our uniforms. Colours of the department."

Jay rises from his chair and comes to a stop before us, bending down so I can catch his scent. It's something like musk and cinnamon and coffee, but, if I try really hard, I think I can detect a hint of bacon too. Mmmmm.

"Blue," he says rubbing under my chin as he turns to Erin. That's when I figure it out: the reason he's not sleeping (or at least part of it). It's her. He loves her. From the way she's staring at him too, she loves him right back.

"What do you think, big guy?" She asks me, and I stick out my tongue so I can lick at least one of them in response to Erin's name suggestion. The gesture makes her giggle and, in turn, makes Jay beam at her. Happy to have helped.

I spend the next twenty minutes or so sitting beside Erin's desk so she'll give me a head rub as often as she can without slacking on her paperwork. When Jay collects her mug so he can clean it and then fill it with fresh coffee, he pats me too and their hands brush together. I keep my head straight, but I'm trained to sense what's going on around me and I know their breaths have altered. Grown shallower. They're both nervous around each other and I only hope I'm not subjected to too much of this tension.

It turns out though, they're partners, and they have some fancy new car that's been kitted out with everything I need to be transported along with them. I spend the time while they suit up watching their movements, noting how Jay checks Erin's vest is on properly and then closes his eyes a little longer than necessary when she lets her hair fall back into place, a wave of her bakery-vanilla scent travelling through the air.

X

Erin and Jay argue over who gets to take me home with them. It's kind of nice, having two people care enough that both of them want to win me (I mean, it's not like I'm a trophy or anything, but still...my pride's at stake here) and I'm not really sure who I'd prefer. Erin gives the best ear rubs but Jay still smells a little of bacon and a man's gotta eat.

"We can flip for it," Jay suggests, but then Erin tries out a new tactic. She lowers her voice, angles her head just so and looks up at him, something in her eyes that obviously makes him cave.

"Please?"

We all know he's just lost.

"Okay. But I get to come to the pet store with you."

Erin grins, two dimples appearing either side of her lips and Jay just stares at her for a while. He looks like he wants to kiss her, even stoops his head a little and I'm all ready to turn away and give them some privacy when suddenly, he clears his throat and steps aside. Erin's face drops and she clears her throat too.

They gather their things, Jay pats me on the head and we all leave for the night.

Apparently, Erin does the driving. I find it a little strange but she _is_ in charge, so think nothing more of it. We pull up outside of the pet store and I'm ready to stay inside of the Sierra, but Jay lets me out and we go inside together.

They disagree over which bed to get me and which water bowl I'd prefer (I like the one with the pictures of the bones personally, but I don't exactly get to voice this to them) and when Jay picks out a bright blue collar, Erin shakes her head and holds up this plaid handkerchief thing which she says will match his shirt.

"That's so cute!" a loud voice booms from behind me. "Now you'll match your daddy!" At first, I'm confused, but then when I feel a hand that isn't Erin or Jay's pat my head, I realise this voice belongs to someone who thinks these guys are my parents. I hold my nose higher in the air because I'm proud that these two detectives have chosen me. Wanted me enough to take me home with them. Calling them mom and dad, I decide, sits fine with me.

We go for food after. Or, more accurately, mom and dad hit up the drive thru and order an obscene amount of junk food and when dad turns to give me the bacon out of his burger, mom smacks him on the arm before it reaches my mouth.

"Don't give him stuff that's bad for him Jay," she scolds. "He can have treats meant for dogs. That's it."

Guess I've figured out who's the bad cop here.

Once they've eaten, dad drives us to mom's place and parks up out front so he can bring up my bed and the other things they've bought while she holds my leash and coos about how smart I'm going to look with my new plaid bandana (the cash register told me this little snippet of info) Mom has the sweetest voice I think I've ever heard.

There's an awkward moment - much like the locker room - when she offers dad a cup of coffee and he lingers by the counter. I think he's remembering something, because his eyes are looking off into the distance and he's swallowing pretty hard. He finally answers her with this sad smile on his face.

"I should get going. Thanks though."

"Any time."

Mom means that, I can tell.

Once dad's left and we're safe inside with the chain on the door, she sighs and tickles me under the chin. I lick her hand so she'll be less sad and she smiles at me, leaning down to boop my nose with hers. Nobody's done that before and I decide I rather like nose boops when they're from mom.

X

I stay at dad's the following night. I'm excited for the potential of bacon or maybe even beef jerky, because dad strikes me as the kind of guy who has stuff like that in his kitchen. It turns out though, that dad doesn't live alone. I have an uncle Will, I discover, who works long hours - even longer than mom and dad - at the hospital. He talks a lot about someone called Natalie and I start to wonder whether all humans are incapable of telling a person of the opposite sex how they really feel. Thank goodness dogs are more simple creatures.

No bacon emerges, much to my disappointment, though dad's more generous with the portions of Kibbles 'n' Bits so I suppose I have to take what I can get. Uncle Will holds out a broken section of KitKat for me which turns out to be absolutely delicious, although when dad says, "Don't tell Erin you've given him chocolate," I figure mom wouldn't approve.

We watch some sports channel that doesn't show any actual games of any kind, and when the time comes to go to bed, I start to realise why dad's eyes are so bloodshot all the time. I'm resting my head on my paws with my eyes closed, halfway to dreaming about a field full of perps, when I hear a strange noise coming from his room. I stay where I am but let my ears do their work in identifying potential threats. There's nothing.

I relax and head back into dreamland again when the noise sounds once more - louder this time. Leaving the comfort of my bed, I pad down the hallway to his closed door and work with my nose to sniff out what's happening. I smell sweat and fear - the kind I've smelled before on the job.

I paw at the door but it won't open. I don't know if it's the scrabbling that does it but after a few moments, the door opens and I see dad running a hand over his forehead to catch the sweat that's pooled there. He's out of breath and almost trips over me because he's not really looking where he's going.

"Woah, sorry boy," he murmurs, reaching blindly to rub behind my ears but missing so all that happens is his fingers waving around in mid air. I follow him out to the living room where he braces himself against the wall and blows out a long, hot breath. I'm not sure what to do, but my instincts tell me mom would.

X

I like evening walks after mom and dad have finished work but somehow, the weekend ones are always better. Sometimes, when I'm with mom, we don't go too far from her place, wandering the streets and staying in the shade so I don't get too hot. She stops for juice occasionally, opting for freshly-squeezed orange and pressed mango; sometimes it's a smoothie with berries and frozen yoghurt; other times there are no tasty treats for her, but we walk the same route anyway.

Dad's a little more adventurous. I think he prefers not being in the apartment so sometimes we take a drive to different spots so we can park up and I get to see the landmarks of the city. I haven't seen the bean though, because dogs aren't allowed in Millennium Park so instead, when dad wants ice cream, we visit Grant Park or the Navy Pier. Walks with ice cream are the best: dad likes anything with chocolate and naturally, I get the last part of the cone, so it's all good.

One afternoon, when the weather's particularly nice for spring, I'm out walking with mom when we bump into dad. It's kind of strange, I think, that it's _strange_ when we're all together outside of work: it should be normal - a mom and a dad walking their dog, but for us I guess it isn't. Mom doesn't notice him at first, so I pull gently but insistently so we can all walk together in the afternoon sunshine.

"Hey," dad smiles at mom, that real honest smile he does when he's not worried about anything and mom's showing her dimples. Dad loves those little marks either side of her lips. "Hey bud," he says to me, scratching behind my ears. "You guys been out walking long?"

"Just a few minutes," mom lies. I know this route and we were on our way back. Still, I'll never complain about an extra long walk. Gives me a chance to strut my stuff in front of this city's ladies. "How about you?"

Dad shrugs. Dad always shrugs in front of mom when he's trying to be casual and doesn't really want her to find out the truth. "Not too long."

"You wanna join us? I was debating getting ice cream."

"How could I say no to that?"

What he really means, I know, is how can he say no to her?

Unlike when dad and I get ice cream, mom's idea of it doesn't involve letting me have any. She picks her mint choc chip and dad picks his double chocolate fudge and they walk much closer than they need to. Mom offers dad a try of hers and he does - try it that is - even though we all know what mint choc chip tastes like. He returns the favour and she moans her approval at the taste, telling him he made the better choice. Dad's never sure what to do when mom makes that noise, because the one thing he wants to do is off limits because they're not together. Any more. It didn't take me long to find out that they had been, not too long ago, and the only reason we don't all live together is because dad can't sleep and he doesn't want it to affect mom.

Somehow, I think she'd be less affected if he was in her bed.

X

One day, after a particularly hard week, mom gets sick. She pretends she's okay while we're in the pen and she's filling out paperwork on approximately seven mugs of coffee and an entire box of blueberry poptarts (which might go some way to explaining the pounding headache) but when we go home, it's dad's place I go to rather than hers.

The next day mom sends dad a text to ask if I can stay at his place again because she's too sick to take care of me. He gets a little worried: she never admits she's sick, so it has to be pretty bad. I spend Saturday morning sitting in the kitchen beside the counter ready to eat any stray shreds of chicken dad accidentally drops when he's making mom some chicken noodle soup. Apparently, this is what humans eat when they're sick. Sounds pretty good. I wonder if I ever get sick whether I might get to try some too.

When he's done with that, he sets about making spaghetti and meatballs so she has something else for the rest of the weekend. I start to wonder how dad can spend so much time and so much love cooking for her, yet he can't just tell her he misses her and wants to kiss her every day. Another reason I'm glad I'm a dog.

"Okay Blue," he says, having packed everything in foil. "Let's go see mom."

I ride up front as a special treat and it's pretty torturous sitting above all this delicious-smelling food and not being able to do a damn thing about it. Still, dad cracks the window a little so I can stick my nose out as we speed past various buildings and intersections until we reach mom's street. Since he has his hands full carrying the food, I walk beside him without my leash - a big responsibility and show of trust, thank you very much.

We knock at the door but don't wait for mom to answer - dad has a set of keys and he lets us in, calling out her name so she knows she's safe before setting the food on the counter. I don't think he's noticed the state of the living room yet, but it's even messier than usual. Mom's not one for tidying.

"Jay?" she croaks from somewhere down the hall.

 _Jeez_. Now _I_ think mom's beautiful, but even I have to admit she looks pretty rough today. Dad stops what he's doing when she enters the room, and looks at her sweatpants, hoodie and messy ponytail. He crosses over to her so he can check her temperature and she closes her eyes against his hand, her fingers gripping his forearm to steady herself.

"Babe, you should be in bed."

I think we all know he just slipped up there but the humans ignore it (like usual) and I lay my head on my paws because I'm almost certain we're here for the long haul today. Guess I can kiss all thoughts of bacon goodbye.

"I need a shower," she just about manages. "I feel gross."

"Go hop in," dad says, "and I'll get your soup ready."

"You made me soup?" Sometimes - like right now - mom looks at dad like she's surprised he's done or said something that's so nice. I'm not sure why: dad's really nice to her _all the time_.

They say nothing else because apparently, a shrug of the shoulders is a good enough reply, and mom heads for her shower while dad starts work on heating her soup. It's quiet while he does - just the occasional clank of the ladle against the pan and the pouring water of the shower way off in the bathroom.

They eat on the couch and I make do with the dry kibbles in my bowl. Could do without the little noises of approval mom makes when she's chewing the noodles though. Still, they make dad smile and he inches closer to her on the couch despite the fact that she's got an obvious fever.

He cleans. He spends time tidying up the stray items of clothing and washing the dishes that are stacked a little precariously by the sink, checks the contents of the refrigerator to make sure there's fresh milk, and all the time, mom stays on the couch huddled under a blanket one minute before throwing it off the next. Dad asks if she's taken any ibuprofen but she shakes her head no and we all know why. I might not have been here while mom was off on her _sabbatical_ (a term everyone seems to use for the period of time when she was high or drunk or both) but even I know why her taking anything would be a bad idea.

Once everything is straight, dad crosses back over to where she's lying and asks if he can get her anything else. She chokes out an "I'm good," which is blatantly untrue and he stares at her for a good minute because he's not sure whether to stay or leave. The last thing he wants to do is go. In the end, he sits back down on the tiny bit of space left on the couch and begins combing through her hair with his fingertips. Mom likes that: it makes her feel slightly better.

Adjusting herself so he has a little more room, mom rests her cheek on dad's thigh so she can breathe him in - that cinnamon and mint scent she loves so much. With the soft sounds of the tv playing and the warm sunlight spilling through the blinds, it's kind of nice, I think, this little set-up we have: mom and dad kind of snuggling on the couch; me dozing off in the strip of sunshine. Even with mom sick, I decide, family naps are the best.

X

It turns out that dogs - even a strong, healthy guy like me - get sick too. Mom recovers after various meals dad makes in her kitchen and then one night a week later, I'm struck down with something that makes me cough and distorts my sense of smell. Even my hearing is off. I feel pretty sorry for myself and dad tries really hard to coax me into a walk or eating some beef jerky but even that isn't enough to tempt me into lifting my head. Even uncle Will's KitKat doesn't cut it. I must be really sick.

Dad doesn't know what to do so he phones mom. Mom always knows what to do, he tells me. She comes over in a blaze of glory, asking questions and half-shouting instructions and adding things like "You'd better not have fed him dairy Jay Halstead, so help me God". Turns out mom's quite the drama queen when she's worried. Dad finds her cute but still doesn't admit to the icecreams we share or the tidbits he hands me at work when she's not looking.

"You think we should take him to the vet?"

I sneeze and she strokes her fingertips from the top of my head down to my nose. It makes my eyes close and I think I'll be alright here if they just leave me to it. I really don't fancy all those stairs.

"I think he has a cold," mom says. "He's sniffly right?"

I am a grown dog. I do _not_ have the sniffles. I think this is the first time I've ever been a little mad at mom.

"Yeah," dad agrees and I get a little mad at him too. But then he says something that makes me forgive him all at once. "You think I should make some chicken soup?"

I try to raise my head because if there's anything to give me a little energy, it's that. Mom laughs a little, low and soft as she soothes the fur behind my ears. "I think he'd like that."

So dad sets about making soup. Mom lies with me on the floor and gives me one of her head rubs, occasionally kissing the top of my crown. It must have been nice to be dad, back when they were together, because I figure mom must have given him a lot of kisses. He misses them, I know, and mom misses them too. Maybe it's why she kisses me so much.

Dad ladles some soup into my bowl and brings it to me, then hands mom a mug of it too. We all stay on the floor slurping chicken soup and I decide it's kind of nice, in a way. I even get a second helping while dad cleans the mugs and mom takes up residency on the floor with the couch cushions and a blanket.

"Thanks for coming over," dad tells her, dropping a kiss to her head without realising what he's doing. They go rigid once they've recognised the mistake, and I sigh because it's not even a mistake at all. The real mistake is them living apart when all they want to be is together.

We stay the night lying on the floor of the living room. Dad doesn't sleep much usually anyway, so it's no big deal for him, but mom startles awake every hour or so to check I'm still here and every time, dad squeezes her shoulder and tells her to go back to sleep.

They talk though, finally. About some woman called Abby who dad married a long time ago and about the reasons he can't sleep; the reasons he can't come home. That word makes mom upset: _home_. She knows this isn't it for him, not really. Dad kisses her then. Just a brief brush of his lips over hers to tell her he's sorry. He loves her. Without any words, mom says it right back.

X

Dad and I have a tradition: Bacon Sundays. We capitalise the letters and everything so it's a proper event. He goes to the store on a Saturday, buys everything we need for the world's best breakfast and then around 10am on a Sunday morning, he heads to the kitchen to start preparing things. After we've eaten (two strips for me, three for dad 'cos he's bigger) we head out for a walk.

"Extra laps burn it off," he always tells me, "and mom'll never know."

One week close to summer, we get a bad case. A real bad one which means we have to work Saturday and I don't have my day at mom's. It doesn't end well and everyone's sad. Usually, the team goes to Molly's at times like this, but dad makes the excuse that he can't because I need a walk and he has stuff to do. Really, it's because he knows mom's upset (she always gets upset when our cases involve kids) and he wants to talk to her, make sure she's okay before we leave her for the weekend.

Unusually though, we don't leave her. She asks if she can come with us, and dad just stares at her face for a moment, watching her eyes as they watch his until finally, he whispers an "of course," into the air.

Mom sleeps in dad's bed that night.

I wonder, idly, whether this means no Bacon Sunday in the morning, but it turns out after a night in dad's bed that mom relaxes her rules a little. I only get the one strip instead of two, but the smiles on mom and dad's faces are worth it.

It becomes a thing after that. Bacon Sundays are me and mom and dad eating together, walking together, watching afternoon tv together. I find it a little strange that mom always goes back to her place afterwards though, when it makes sense just to stay another night. Still, who am I to tell the humans what to do?

Things change one week. Instead of joining us on a Sunday, mom comes over Saturday night with a six-pack of beer, a steaming hot pizza and some excuse about watching the game on dad's tv because it's better than hers. I thought the police weren't meant to lie, but guess I'm wrong. Dad grins at her when she garbles her reason for being with us and just takes the stuff out of her hands, finding a couple plates so they can eat on the couch. Pizza's a tricky one because my mouth waters like you wouldn't believe and ever since my little bout of flu, even dad's been stricter on the no-dairy rule. I figure I might get a slice of pepperoni out of this new situation though.

She and dad share his bed and even though he still doesn't manage the whole night, dad has more unbroken sleep when mom's around than he does usually. This routine keeps up until dad's had enough of sleeping in his bed with mom and decides it would be better to sleep in her bed instead. Bacon Sundays are sometimes at mom's now too.

X

Dad asks mom to go with him to his support group meeting. They head over there after work and I spend the two hours hanging out with uncle Will, unfortunately not eating KitKats. Since dad's upped the level of strictness, so has his brother.

Dad tells everyone at that group that he thinks he's finally managing his PTSD. His head's clear again - almost all of the time - and it means he can hear a gunshot without an involuntary flare of panic shooting up his spine. He can look at mom and know he's not going to disappoint her - no more than he already has at least - and mom kisses him at that, in front of all of those people! She tells him he's never disappointed her; not even once.

They collect me and we head to mom's place. Dad says he wants to sleep in their bed again and mom just gets this smile on her face like she's the happiest she's ever been. I stay out in the livingroom while they're down the hall where there's lots of laughing which subsides all of a sudden, and I think I know what's happening. I'm happy for them - more than happy, actually - but there are just some things a guy doesn't need to see his parents doing.

We're all eating breakfast one day when dad looks over at mom and tells her it's time we all went to the cabin for the weekend. She says she doesn't want to spend her time trying and failing to catch fish, but dad laughs, does something with her ear that makes her smile, then moan, and whispers that what he had in mind involves long walks around the lake and significant use of the hot tub to warm up after skinny dipping.

Not surprisingly, mom agrees to that.

We head out to Wisconsin after work one Friday night when the leaves are starting to turn golden and the air has gotten a little crisper. It's a good few hours drive but dad tells mom to rest in the passenger seat because he's "got this," and you know what? I think he has.

It's inky black when we arrive and there's a whole host of stars playing way above us in the sky. Mom's a little dozy when she steps out because she's been asleep most of the way with dad's hand under hers on her knee. She always likes to sleep like that - with him touching her, so she knows he's still there. I don't think she needs to be worried though: dad knows he's not going to let her down now.

The weekend passes too fast. I get to chase the birds through the trees while mom and dad walk with their fingers entwined and lazy smiles on their faces. The wind has tanned mom's skin and brought the freckles out on dad's so they look healthy and glowing. Just before we have to set off to return to Chicago, he asks whether he can come home.

"You've _been_ home," she tells him, leaning against the Sierra with her hair whipping around her face in the breeze.

"Officially," dad says. "Can I come home _officially_?"

His words make mom's voice sound choked. "You don't have to ask Jay."

He crosses over to her, rests his forehead against hers and tells her he loves her so damn much. Mom's voice won't work properly so she doesn't speak, just kisses him instead.

The following Monday, we all head into work together: mom and dad and me. It's not unlike most mornings, except it is, because last night we all slept at _home_. We only have one of those now and I think I'm happy to give up dad's leniency if it means mom wears her dimples all the time.

When we reach the pen, dad goes to pour coffee, mom busies herself with the big board and its photographs and I'm just about to take my spot beside her desk when Ruzek shoots me a wink, throws a pork rind into his mouth and then _accidentally_ drops one on the floor.

Mom doesn't notice so I gobble it down quickly, careful not to make any mess. She's not the tidiest person in the world but she can zero in on crumbs like you wouldn't believe.

"Blue, where's your loyalty?" dad asks when he returns with the coffee. He's referring to my current position beside Ruzek's desk but I figure I can afford to leave mom and dad's sides one in a while.

I'll see them both at _home_ after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N - SURPRISE! I know I said this was a oneshot but I was so overwhelmed by the response this got that I decided to add a second chapter. This will be the last one though. Thank you to everyone who reviewed and sent me love for the innermost thoughts of this German Shepherd.**

 **Thanks also to everyone who reviewed my latest oneshot, Paint it Black :)**

 **I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. x**

* * *

Paw Patrol

In my humble opinion, watching mom and dad cook is better entertainment than the tv. Each weekend, dad's been giving mom lessons because around a month or so ago, she ruined two dishes and an oven tray because she misjudged the timing of the frozen dinner she was cooking and our apartment smelled like burnt for at least a fortnight.

Tonight, he's been teaching her how to prepare stuffed chicken breasts and something called _funeral potatoes_ which initially seemed kind of morbid, but once I discovered they consisted of cheese, cream and butter, they suddenly didn't seem so bad. I figure this particular meal is a win-win for me because if there's meat involved, I tend to get a tiny portion regardless, and if it doesn't turn out so well, dad lets me have more than I should because he hates wasting meat.

Thing is, during these lessons, mom gets a little distracted. I guess I should cut her some slack because she focuses really _really_ hard at work, but her attention-span during meal-prep is abysmal. Case in point: dad is cubing potatoes and rather than helping, she's been trailing her hand up and down his side for the past five minutes.

"You got it?" he asks, having explained the precise measurements at which to cut the yukon golds.

"Got it," she lies. I can always tell when mom's lying. I think dad can too, only he doesn't call her out on it because he's just so happy to be back here that I'm pretty sure if she told him she wanted to pack up the apartment and move to Mexico, he would.

"If they're uneven sizes, they won't cook evenly," he says.

Mom replies with an "Uh huh," but her hands are still trailing along the seam of his t-shirt and I think he's getting a little distracted too.

Dad's mistake is turning to kiss mom before he hands her the knife. I think she forgets all about making funeral potatoes because all of a sudden, her hand isn't on top of his shirt anymore, but roaming underneath it. I rest my head on my paws because I know where this is headed and I'm not about to receive any chicken in my dish anytime soon.

Sure enough, they end up in their bedroom while I busy myself with the ball dad bought me one night after a particular hard day on the job. Personally, I think my nose should get a pay-rise, but I'll settle for a ball that houses those little bone-shaped gravy biscuits mom buys at the grocery store when she hasn't realised Ruzek and dad have been feeding me pork rinds all day.

By the time they resurface - mom wearing dad's t-shirt and dad wearing only his jeans - the chicken has begun to dry out and the funeral potatoes aren't even in the oven. They eat salad as their side dish and I lament the fact that I only get the skin with my kibbles.

X

With the colder weather comes mud. We take a family trip to the cabin in Wisconsin one weekend in early November and dad doesn't even bother to bring my leash for the trip. He and mom let me explore wherever I please on our walks around the lake, which seems like a huge treat until I spend a great afternoon chasing birds through dirt - something I haven't had the foresight to fully assess.

Mom says I have to have a bath. I look to dad to defend me against this horrible torture but like always, he agrees with her and actually goes so far as to start running the water while I try and avoid being captured. She tricks me with a strip of beef jerky though (I'm not sure where she even gets it from: she's like a human vending machine sometimes) and I hang my head in shame when dad appears to scoop me up in his arms. If there's one thing I take pride in though, it's staining his favourite shirt as he plonks me in the tub.

He rinses me off and it's not too bad, but then mom appears with a bottle of purple liquid and I start backing away from her. I love mom, but there's a determined expression written across her face and dad and I both know she's going to win whatever battle she initiates. It transpires that the purple stuff is mom's shower gel. I know this because when she squeezes a tomato-sized amount onto her palm, I get a whiff of the scent I always smell when she's had a shower. She lathers me up and I stare dad out because I thought the boys were supposed to stick together.

All he says is, "Sorry bud," and pats me on the head. I continue to stare at him as mom soaps up my butt and tells me I'm a good boy. I decide to chew her boot laces later as payback, but then think better of it because despite the bath, I still love mom - even though she _has_ made me smell like one of those lavender-chamomile scented pillows.

After I'm all clean, mom and dad let me lie in front of the fireplace so I can dry off while they set about cooking some pasta. Dad tells mom he's in the mood for _spaghetti alla puttanesca_ (which turns out to mean something quite rude) and she just looks up at him with this weird expression on her face. She's not sad, but she looks somewhat embarrassed and I have no idea why until dad flames from the neck upwards and gabbles an apology, saying:

"Erin, I'm so sorry, I didn't-"

"-It's okay," mom interrupts him, stroking her fingertips along his forearm so he'll look at her. "Really."

Dad kisses her forehead, then each of her eyelids and her nose before finally making it to her lips. She rests against him with a sigh after that and I'm able to figure out that maybe some time ago, before dad knew mom, she made her money in a very different way than how she does now. I don't think it matters though: dad and I will always love mom regardless.

They cook their pasta and instead of eating at the table, mom sits on the counter to lift forkfuls of tasty-looking spaghetti from her bowl to her mouth, and dad eats his standing between her legs so they're way closer than they need to be. When they're done, dad takes the bowls and puts them into the sink, not washing them straight away but returning to his previous position so mom can lean against his chest with her eyes closed. She'll never admit it, but she loves this place. Dad thinks she's a city girl at heart, and maybe she is, but all she wants for the future is for us all to grow old here by the lake with its huddle of trees and plentiful birds to chase. To me, that sounds perfect.

X

The winter draws in with its blizzards and freezing air, its dark mornings and dark nights and a blanket of snow that makes it harder to sniff out what I need to find. One weekend, mom and dad leave me in the apartment - which is very unusual - but they come back a couple hours later hauling in a tree that looks like it should be in the forest. Mom laughs and tells dad she thinks they should've chosen the smaller one, but he shakes his head and tells her you can never have a tree that's too big. Dad's not often wrong, but I think he might be on this occasion, and besides, the damn thing is shedding its needles all over the floor which - if you get them in your paws - are pretty painful.

They drape a string of lights around the tree and then hang so many balls on it that I think it must be a giant present for me. I go to biff one with my nose but mom scolds me and I get confused.

"They're baubles," she says, changing her tone into that lovely soft voice she uses to explain things. "Not balls." She rubs behind my ears so I know she's not mad and then asks dad where my bone is, and I'm confused because I don't have a bone, but then dad goes to that space between the apartment door and the livingroom, rustles in a bag and then produces said bone.

"Here Blue," he says, holding it out to me. I feel so grateful to have mom and dad for my parents.

Around a couple weeks later, mom starts falling asleep on the couch in front of the tree as soon as we all get in from work. Dad wakes her every time to tell her to grab a shower while he cooks dinner, and she always gives him this grateful smile, strokes her hand down his back and then pads off down the hallway as he sets about rummaging in the freezer for something to shove in the oven.

She's exhausted all of the time so dad makes a real effort to prepare snacks that won't give her the sugar highs and then the subsequent crashes. You know, dad really does love mom a lot. The carrot sticks and granola bars aren't exactly her favourite, but she doesn't say anything because nobody's ever made mom snacks before. She's just grateful that we all live together now.

I wonder when mom and dad are going to realise the reason behind this bout of tiredness. Mom has a baby growing inside of her but neither she nor dad know or even suspect yet. I try to tell her not to drink coffee or beer but my words come out in a language of barks that humans don't understand. It's rather frustrating but I decide to pay close attention in case she does something that would really be dangerous for the baby. Now that I've thought about being a big brother, I very much like the idea and part of my role is as a protector.

One day, mom tells dad she'd like canned corn for dinner.

"With what?" he asks, dusting his lips over her eyelids as she rests on the couch.

"Nothing,"she hums, hooking her fingers blindly inside of the neck of dad's t-shirt so she can pull him back to her lips."Just corn."

"This is why you're tired," dad tells her. "You need carbs for energy."

Considering mom and dad work in intelligence, when it comes to themselves their sense of perception is incredibly weak.

"Fine," she mumbles tiredly. "Whatever you want. Just make sure there's canned corn."

Dad makes mousaka and piles a whole load of corn on mom's plate which she practically inhales. In my opinion, mom is elegant and beautiful all of the time, but right now - when she's shoveling food in like she hasn't eaten in weeks - it's a little harder to see it.

X

Finally, mom and dad realise that there's something going on. Or, rather, mom realises and then tells dad when he's lying in bed one Sunday morning, only half-awake.

"Jay," she says softly, leaning against the doorframe with this dimple-displaying smile on her face. Dad's not fully-coherent, and so mumbles something unintelligible as he rolls towards the middle of the bed with his eyes closed, reaching his fingertips blindly for her body so he can settle them on mom's warm skin. When he doesn't find her, he opens his eyes tentatively, craning his head from under the sheets so he can see her.

"Come back to bed," he smiles sleepily, and mom crosses the room to him but doesn't snuggle back under the sheets like dad expects her to.

"Jay," she says again, tracing his jawline with her hands. "I think I'm pregnant."

"What?" his eyes are suddenly wide.

"I'm late. Like, _really_ late. I haven't really been keeping track of my cycle but I know I haven't had a period in at least a couple months. I thought I was just tired but I'm thinking it might be more than that."

Mom's happy, thinking about the possibility of having a baby with dad. She wants _everything_ with him. All dad wants is whatever makes mom happy, so I guess we're in a win-win situation.

We all take a walk to the local drugstore so mom and dad can buy some tests, which wouldn't be necessary if they could understand me. Mom smells different now. It's not a bad different, but there's a definite change in her scent - like a hint of something a little more musky. A little more like dad.

I wait obediently outside while dad accompanies mom to buy what she thinks she needs to tell her what I already know, all excited and nervous as he entwines his fingers with exit the doors around five minutes later with mom clutching a bag that houses various brands of tests. They're nothing if not thorough, mom and dad.

Unsurprisingly, each little plastic stick mom pees on shows them a little plus sign that makes dad giddy. Mom, who's been so excited for this possibility, is suddenly overcome with this ridiculous feeling of potential inadequacy that she has no right to feel. She's already the best mom there is. I tell her this by nudging her hand with my nose, then licking her palm carefully. I think it does the trick because she smiles at me, pets me on my head and then rubs that delicious spot behind my ears.

"Erin," dad says in a voice that betrays how careful he's being. He lifts her chin with his forefinger and her eyes are shining with tears. They're happy tears though.

"I know," mom whispers, gripping his arms with her fingers.

His face erupts in a grin then, wide and stretching from ear to ear and mom laughs, kissing him with zero precision, her lips pretty much missing his but it doesn't matter because they're both so happy. I love seeing mom and dad like this.

He can't stop staring at her stomach. There's nothing to see yet, but dad's fascinated by it, so much so that mom tells him to quit staring at her unless he's going to take his shirt off and let her stare too. Dad _does_ take his shirt off. He lets it fall somewhere on the floor and smirks at mom, who's looking at his chest like it's something to eat. I take myself off into the hallway because I'm pretty sure where this is headed.

The following Monday, mom and dad tell Hank that our family is going to grow, and even the boss gets a little teary eyed as he pulls mom in for a hug before shaking dad's hand. Instead of heading out to suit up with the rest of them team when a case comes in, mom stays at her desk with a mug of tea rather than coffee, telling dad:

"Careful babe."

Dad grins because he loves it when mom calls him that. I sit by mom's side until I'm instructed to go too, but I stay where I am because I get that dad has to head out to Dearborn Park but one of us needs to stay here with her.

"C'mon Blue," he calls again, and I tilt my head to mom questioningly. Why doesn't he understand?

"Smart dog," Hank says, and I hold my head up higher because that's high praise coming from the boss. "He can stay. Should be a pretty straightforward bust."

Everyone heads out and leaves us to it and I decide I'm cross at dad for trying to make me leave mom. When he returns a couple hours later, I ignore him - treatment that continues on the drive home and during dinner until he tells her that he's sorting divorce papers because the last thing he wants is to be married to someone else when mom brings their baby into the world. She doesn't want that either but she was never going to say as such.

I can't stay mad at dad when I watch him look at mom like he does, but he really needs to know I'm not about to leave her now.

X

Mom looks different now. Somehow she's softer, and her stomach isn't the flat plane it was when she first brought me home. It's round now, expanding every day as she grows the baby bigger and stronger inside of her. Every night before bed, she lets dad rub this lotion that kind of smells like chocolate into her skin. I licked his hand once, just to get a taste seeing as I rarely see uncle Will long enough to enjoy a mouthful of KitKat on the sly, but it was _not_ good. I had to spend the rest of the evening before bed begging dad for a treat so I could rid the kind-of-soapy taste from my mouth.

Tonight, I wait for mom to climb into bed beside dad before I settle down on the floor at her side. They get to discover whether I'm getting a brother or sister tomorrow and I rest my head on my paws as I listen to their conversation. They haven't discussed names before and so I really hope this won't be like the time they were trying to name me. I'm sure whatever mom suggests will be perfect though.

"If it's a girl, do you want to name her after Camille?" dad asks softly, dancing his fingertips over the protruding bump of mom's stomach. I hear her suck in a breath and the wavering in her voice tells me she's fighting tears.

"I love you for asking that," she says. "But girl or boy, I don't want this baby to feel like it has to live up to something. Some _one_. We should just pick what sounds right with Halstead."

"Halstead?" dad questions. "You want it to have my last name?"

It isn't so much surprise that I detect in his voice, more like honour.

"Of course," mom whispers definitively. "'Cos we're all going to have yours someday, right?"

I lift my head to look up at them and dad looks like he's finding it hard to swallow. He's struggling to use words, I can tell, so he just presses his lips against mom's and tells her he loves her.

Mom hums softly and I think that's her way of saying it back.

We all go to work the next morning and when dad has to leave with Ruzek to follow up a lead, mom grabs his hand as he passes her desk so that he stops beside us.

"Careful out there," she instructs with a smile, her two dimples on display and dad just looks at her like he's about to melt into a puddle. You know, the ones snowmen make when the sun eventually wins out over the cold. "The sonogram appointment is at two."

"Wouldn't miss it," dad tells her, leaning over so he can seal his lips over hers. They never used to make a point of showing how much they love each other while we're all at work, but since they've found out about the baby, things have changed.

"Suit up Halstead," Hank instructs, breaking mom and dad apart like he always does, only he's biting back a smile and so I know that really, he's only messing with them. Dad gets flustered and heads out - not before looking back at mom with this huge grin that makes him look like a Cheshire cat though - and mom just smiles back at him, her eyes dancing and I don't think I've ever seen her happier.

As it happens, mom kind of likes PDAs at work.

Of course, dad returns like he promised and he drops a kiss to mom's crown on his way to his desk, pats me on the head and then takes a seat so he can write up some paperwork. They eat lunch - burritos mom bought when we went out for my outdoor break fifteen minutes ago - and then they leave me behind with Hank and the rest of the team while they go for their sonogram appointment. I don't mind staying here if dad's with mom, and besides, I'm giving it twenty minutes before Ruzek hits the vending machine and I become the grateful recipient of half a Snickers bar.

"Well?" Hank asks when they return, hand in hand and beaming. I sit up, mouth salivating a little as I catch a whiff of the open candy bar on Ruzek's desk, but give mom and dad my full attention. Mom looks at dad, nodding for him to tell us, and he does with sparkling eyes and the proudest expression I've ever seen.

"It's a girl."

There's a lot of noise all of a sudden as everyone surrounds them, pulling mom in for hugs and shaking dad's hand and generally being overwhelmingly excited. I bark my happiness too, just in case they've forgotten about me, and everyone laughs as mom bends down to nuzzle the top of my head and dad pats me on my back.

X

Dad's exhausted. He doesn't tell mom this of course, but I know he is from the way he crashes out as soon as his head hits the pillow every night at bedtime. Mom though, has started to notice. She hasn't said anything, but every weekend, rather than having her cooking lesson, she makes dad rest on the couch in front of the tv while she makes dinner. Dad doesn't like this for two reasons, the first being that he feels incredibly guilty: if anyone should be resting, it's mom. The second is that mom cooking unsupervised has incurred some pretty disastrous results.

The first week, things were fine. She made ziti and prepared a side salad and all seemed great, judging by the appreciative noises dad made as he shovelled forkful after forkful into his mouth. A couple weeks later, she triumphed with a lasagne, and the week after that was a particularly delicious beef cobbler.

Since then however, things have taken a bit of a nosedive. I'm currently pressing my nose against my paws in an attempt to block out some of the smell from her charred garlic. Mom let the oil get too hot.

Dad never complains though, just gets up from the couch, kisses the back of her head with a smile and tells her not to worry about it. Thing is, mom _does_ worry a little. She wants to be able to cook well enough that when my little sister gets in from school, there'll be a tasty dinner on the table, just like there was when she lived with Hank and Camille. I think, even without her having voiced this, that dad knows, and that's why he doesn't protest when she insists on cooking.

If it's possible, I think I love mom and dad even more for this.

One Saturday evening, she's trying her hand at spaghetti and meatballs - one of dad's favourite dishes - when she opens the cupboard to discover she's forgotten to buy pasta at the grocery store. She tells dad as such and so he volunteers to run out to the 7-11 on the next block.

"Blue, you wanna go with dad?" she asks me, almost tripping over my paws when she loses her balance a little. That stretched stomach is playing havoc with mom's centre of gravity these days. Dad and I share a look of understanding, and I stay right where I am, only slightly further away from mom.

"We can take him for a walk together later," dad says, and I nod because that sounds like a much better deal all round. He kisses her quickly before grabbing his wallet from the counter and leaving us to it. The smell coming from the pork in the oven is divine.

Only around fifteen minutes later, there's a knock at the apartment door. I scamper from the kitchen to the origin of the noise, sniffing at the gap between the outside hallway and the floor beneath my paws. I can't discern exactly who it is, but I can smell some sort of illegal substance and so I shout to mom not to open the door. Dad isn't here and I can only do so much on my own. Mom rounds the corner though, her stomach appearing first, and I already know she's going to open that door. I'm ready to pounce, just incase, but when she leans in to look through the peephole (a feat that's a little tricky, given her new body) she sighs out the word "Bunny".

I hope it's the actual rabbit kind and not the other one I've heard about - you know, _mom's_ mom. Something (call it intuition) tells me my hopes are about to be dashed.

Mom opens the door and of course, it's the wrong type of bunny. "Mom," she says, devoid of any expression other than sudden tiredness.

"Erin!" she practically shrieks, holding out her arms to hug her daughter. I step between them because people need to be gentle with mom, and I'm not sure Bunny gets this. "It _is_ true! You're pregnant!"

"Yeah," mom steps back, away from Bunny and I keep my place between them.

"It's Jay's?" Now _that_ makes me mad. It makes mom mad too.

"Of _course_ she's Jay's."

"She? You're having a little girl?"

"Why are you here?" mom sighs, resigning to her tiredness once again. I really wish dad would hurry up at the store.

"You never returned my calls. I wanna be in your life Erin. Yours and my grandchild's. Grand _daughter's_."

Mom is silent for a while and I start to wonder whether she's okay or whether I need to make a bolt for it out of the door. I know where the 7-11 is and I know the route dad would take, so it wouldn't take too long for me to reach him and drag him back here. But then she summons up the remainder of her strength - of course she does, because she's mom - and tells Bunny no.

"No?"

"That's what I said."

"But she's my granddaughter Erin."

"I know. So if you think I'm going to let you do to her what you did to me, then you're mistaken."

"Baby, please, I-"

"- Bunny?" I hear dad's voice ask, and immediately I feel a sense of relief because if there's anyone who can tell this woman to stay the hell away from mom, it's him. He comes close enough that I can see him and I wag my tail as a show of thanks that he's back. "What're you doing here?"

"Visiting my daughter," she spits icily, and I feel dad's rage grow as she turns to mom and says, "You going to let him talk to me like that?"

"You need to leave," mom instructs. "Now."

Dad stands aside so Bunny can go back the way she came, but she doesn't budge. "I have a right to see my own grandchild you know."

"Just leave Bunny," he says, before I call the police."

She scoffs and rolls her eyes and I allow myself a gruff bark in solidarity with dad. "You _are_ the police."

"I know, but I'll call the ones on duty who won't be afraid to book you for possession."

I can't help myself. That deserves another bark. And a growl... Oops.

It works though, and Bunny turns to leave without another word. Dad's inside of our apartment, wrapping his arms around mom before I've even blinked. She doesn't cry, even though I think she wants to, but she does allow herself a couple minutes just to stand there, leaning against dad as he rubs comforting circles on her back. He doesn't say anything either, just holds her for as long as she needs.

Later, in bed, dad finally asks if she's ok. Mom thinks for a moment but I think she decides that yes, she is. Dad says nothing more, just holds her a little tighter.

X

Mom refuses to stay at home when dad goes to work. The baby's due any day now, but still she struggles out of bed on a morning, pulls on the one remaining t-shirt that kind of fits her and a pair of gym leggings because none of her jeans will do up anymore. Dad's stopped trying to tell her she should spend her days on the couch, and anyway, I know he likes to come back to her in the pen after he's been out working a case.

Today, intelligence has caught a case that involves me seeking out a stash of dodgy heroin. I'm not going though: mom's going to have the baby today, although nobody but me knows that yet. She smells different - like the time I knew she was pregnant before she did - so I know it's imminent.

Dad being dad tries to summon me to him after he's kissed mom on his way to suit up. I remain exactly where I am.

"Blue, c'mon. We've gotta go," he says again - a little more insistent this time. Still, I don't move, other than to look at mom sitting there with her stomach hanging low and her back spasming every so often.

Dad gets a little mad that he has to take me by the collar, and so I'm forced to use aggression tactics - not something I enjoy when it comes to my parents, but this is for a good cause. I know dad'll be grateful once he realises.

"Damn it dog!" he curses when I snarl at him, baring my teeth so he'll retract his hand. I lay down, spreading my paws to make myself hard to lift if he tries.

I get my way though, eventually. Hank mutters something about never working with children or animals and I'd take offence, but ensuring mom is okay takes precedence. Sure enough, an hour or so later, mom starts shifting in her chair, wincing as she feels a sharp pain in her lower abdomen. I sit up, ears on high alert, and lovely as ever, mom pats me on the head.

She continues her work, clenching her fingers when she gets a pain, then releasing and massaging them after it's subsided. I question whether she'd like me to get Platt from downstairs but it comes out as more of a high-pitched yelp that she doesn't understand and so I just keep watch instead, ready to bark my way to alerting attention if need be. What I want more than anything is for dad to return.

When he doesn't, after at least three hours, I start to worry. Mom's worried too, calling his phone and then Hank's phone - and Ruzek and Attwater's too - but there's no answer. She's growing more and more uncomfortable too, shifting in her seat and then standing, leaning on her desk each time she gets one of those pains that make her screw her face up. It's hard to see mom in pain.

A particularly nasty one makes her suck in a deep breath and I open my mouth to bark loud enough to alert Platt, but then I hear the buzzing of the door followed by dad's voice, and I'm just so grateful that I bark anyway, running across to him to speed him up. Mom needs to go to med. She's just been waiting for dad.

"So you like me now?" dad laughs, but then he looks up at mom, sees her braced against her desk and forgets all about earlier.

They leave for the hospital with a promise dad will call whenever there's news, and I settle back down because I know mom will be okay now. Ruzek's going to take me home with him for the night - or however long they'll be gone - so I know there's the likelihood of beef jerky or pork rinds or chocolate - hell, maybe even all three.

X

"Last breakfast dude," Ruzek tells me, offering the blueberry poptart to my waiting mouth. I've missed mom and dad but staying with Ruzek has been one heck of a culinary experience. We had cheesesteak for dinner last night - even dad's never let me have anything like _that_ before.

It turns out that I've had to stay away from home longer than expected. Mom got sick after delivering the baby and the doctors were too worried to let her come home. Dad was worried too, I know, because he stayed by her side the entire time. They're okay now though: healthy and happy and ready to go home. I'm ready to go home too.

We finish off breakfast and then I get my leash clipped on. My collar's a little tighter than it was when mom and dad left for the hospital so it pulls a little more than it should, but it's a small price to pay for the poptarts and cheesesteak. He drops me off, claps dad on the back but declines his offer to come inside: he'll leave us all to it to get settled.

"Hey Blue," I hear mom say softly, and I pad carefully over to where she appears in the doorway, clutching the smallest bundle of perfection I've ever seen. Dad comes with me, smiling as mom stifles a yawn, kissing her forehead and then stopping to kiss my sister's too. Mom hands her to dad then, holding her side as she crouches down so she's resting on her knees. I think mom still hurts when she moves, but she breezes past it like always. Dad crouches too, holding the baby protectively in his arms.

"This is Lola," mom tells me, and I press my nose against the blanket, inhaling her scent. Lord, I thought mom was perfect, but Lola? She's something else entirely. She's like a reincarnation of mom, mirrored in the way there are two tiny dimples either side of her lips; a cute little button nose, turned up slightly at the end just like mom's, although she cracks an eye open and even though colours aren't my speciality, I can tell they're blue like dad's.

I wag my tail in a hello but I know I can't use my tongue as a hello here: she's too tiny and delicate. Instead, I lift my nose from her blanket to the little hand poking out of her sleepsuit and inhale again, registering the exact blend of jasmine and vanilla, musk and cinnamon that proves she came from both mom and dad.

Later, we get ready to go for a walk in the afternoon sunshine. Dad places Lola in the carrier so he can set it on the stroller's frame while mom clips my leash onto my collar.

"Has Ruzek been feeding you things you're not supposed to eat?" she asks, loosening my collar so I can swallow more easily again. Nothing gets past mom.

"Ready?" dad asks, and she nods, smiling as he leans in to kiss her.

Walks have always been one of my favourite things in the world, but they've never made me feel as proud as I do now. Mom's pushing Lola's stroller, the rays of golden sunlight spilling across her face so she's bathed in this ethereal colour I haven't seen before. I guess it's true what they say - about that glow that comes with having a baby. Dad's got my leash in his left hand, his right resting on the bottom of mom's back like he's showing her off, and I guess he is.

We head along the pier and take a rest stop on one of the benches overlooking the lake. I watch mom snuggle in against dad and think about how nice it would be in the future if I got to have this kind of love. As if reading my thoughts, the most beautiful creature I've ever seen strolls past with an elegant walk and the softest-looking fur I've ever seen. She turns her head towards me and catches me staring. I look away, but can't help myself and crane my neck so I can watch her walk along the rest of the pier. Girl looks back at me the entire time and I already know I'm in trouble.

I hear mom chuckle and I look up to catch her grinning knowingly at me.

"I think our boy's just experienced love at first sight," she tells dad with a smile.

"As long as it's our boy and not our girl," he says. "'Cos _that_ isn't happening."

"Daddy's gonna be so overprotective of you," she tells Lola, smoothing down the blanket that's covering her body.

Yeah, I think. Dad and me _both_.


End file.
